


Go Out and Chase the Stars

by irishbandlover23



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, sakamoto needs more love, sakamoto week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishbandlover23/pseuds/irishbandlover23
Summary: Sakamoto Week Day 2: The Dragon of Katsurahama (Then and Now)After his debilitating injury, Sakamoto continues to fight alongside his friends in his own way. But, as he sees them return from the battlefield in fewer numbers by the day, he knows something has to change.





	Go Out and Chase the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been interested in exploring Sakamoto's relationship with the Joui3 during the war. We've seen his interactions with Gintoki, but what about Zura and Takasugi? They were close friends, so they probably did know Sakamoto was planning to leave. How did they react?
> 
> Anyways, hope you read and enjoy!

“Sakamoto-san, please hold on, Sakamoto-san!”

As he listens to the desperate pleas of his soldiers he failed to protect, he bites back his screams, his pain, and hisses, “Don’t panic! The commander’s gonna yell at you.”

He moves his fingers and feels a sharp sting across his arm. He can't help but recall Takasugi’s sharp retort during their first week at war together: _One day you’re going to regret being yourself._

He bitterly thinks as the blood continues flowing from his sword-arm, _Well, it seems that day has come._

Sakamoto cringes as Takasugi’s voice sharply cuts through the soldiers’ hollers, grunts, and moans. “You’re the one I’m going to yell at. You may be the Dragon of Katsurahama” _Don’t give me that name, you know I don’t want it!_ “but you got badly beaten back there. What happened?”

His subordinates nervously glance down at Sakamoto's prone form and reply, “The enemy’s injured soldiers, the ones that didn’t make it off the battlefield… We were trying to carry them. And then, along with the injured soldiers...”

 _Say it, men! Say it was my fault!_ But they don’t—can't—say anything. Because following his orders meant becoming his willing accomplices, equally accountable for their failed mission.

Having his soldiers bear that burden... _that_ hurt much worse.

Takasugi’s liquid-velvet voice cuts through the silence, and staring at Sakamoto’s prone form on the stretcher, murmurs, “...It looks like you _do_ need a lecture.”

Sakamoto winces in both pain and mortification. All he wants is to be alone, clean his wounds, and bitterly regret the terrible choices he’s made.  _But, even if I’m a terrible one, I'm still a general; I’m not allowed cowardice, not now._

“Spare me, would ya?” _I know it better than you do._ “I just managed to survive, are you tryin’ to finish me off?”

_Say it._

_Make it a fact._

_I know it already._

Takasugi's green eyes bore into his, as he quietly sentences him. “As a samurai, you’re already dead.”

Sharp, cold, bitter release. _Thank you._

He musters up enough strength to tonelessly reply, "I thought so. It’s gonna be inconvenient if I can’t even use a sword to peel an apple anymore.”

He stares at Takasugi, at the way his mouth softly curves upwards, the way his eyes aren’t as harsh as usual, and thinks, _Don’t give me that look, Takasugi. I don’t want, nor need, your pity. Don't give me that look, not today._

“You were a disgrace to samurai to begin with.” As Takasugi’s eyes grow cold, his scathing voice cuts through him like a sharp knife. “What kind of samurai takes pity on his enemy and ends up losing his good hand over it? That’s a fitting end for someone as stupid as _you_.”

Takasugi’s words slice through his skin, to his bleeding heart, leaving behind the cruel and harsh agony of reality.

 _I wanted to be different. To follow my ideals, and yet I failed. There’s no room for my stupid beliefs in the battlefield; I’m a poor excuse of a samurai, of a per_ _—_

“He ain’t dead.”

Sakamoto groans in pain. Whether it was his wound or Gintoki's words, no one could tell, not even him. _Why, Gintoki?! Why do you make this harder to endure?_

“A samurai’s more than a guy that swings a sword around. Cutting down enemies ain’t the only part of war.” Gintoki pauses, looks straight at Sakamoto with his usual dead-fish eyes, and casually remarks, “Sakamoto Tatsuma’s war ain’t some petty war you can clean up with a broken pole.”

Amidst the burning pain, he briefly quirks his lips upwards.  _Why do you always know what to say, Gintoki? Why can't you ever just let things be?_

“...Do you remember the enemy’s face?”

Sakamoto freezes, suddenly wrenched from his thoughts. They couldn't possibly want revenge, at a time like this! As much as he was surprised—and very, very touched—by their loyalty to him of all people, he didn’t need them getting hurt!

“You guys..” _Don’t. Not for me. Not for anyone._

They ignore his feeble protests, as usual. They both glance down at his injured, mottled, and still-bleeding arm, and look at each other with hardened gazes. “Unfortunately… we like petty wars.”

_I'm not worth it!_

“So you can fight your war, and we’ll fight ours.”

* * *

 

_Several weeks later_

It's incredibly difficult for Sakamoto to sit back and do nothing while his injury heals, yet that was all he was able to do. Although his wound was slowly healing, the scar remained as a physical reminder of his stupidity and failure as a samurai.

Every day, he bites his lips as he watches his friends go out to the battlefield and return heavily injured. Powerless, he can only watch as his comrades die and continue to fight until they break.

It's with his newfound sense of hopelessness that he decides to be of some use to his friends. _I must do everything I can to help them survive, to help them succeed in this never-ending war._

Sucking up his pain, he avoids Zura's protests as he deftly bandages his sword arm and continues to trade, bargain, and get them the materials they needed to continue their battles.

He ignores the way other merchants glance at his arm and turn their heads.

He ignores the way his hand easily tires, easily falls uselessly by his side.

He focuses, instead, on the materials he hustles out of boasting, equally devious, men.

He focuses on the cheers of the soldiers as they poke through the food and blankets he's acquired.

Yet, as satisfying as his position as a sly, successful, smiling merchant could be, he was always left unsatisfied with his results.

_I can’t fight, I always need protection… I’m practically useless._

It's no use getting everyone upset over something trivial, so he hides his dark, unpleasant thoughts with smiles, jokes and laughter.

As the weeks inevitably pass and soldiers come and go, Sakamoto can’t help but feel the growing gap between his comrades and himself. It's far too wide, far too dreadful, far too inevitable.

Zura, polite and caring as ever, his closest confidante, no longer has much time to talk. He hides behind his numerous plans, trying as hard as he can to control everyone, to keep everyone safe. Sakamoto won't begrudge a general poring over maps and strategies, wondering about the best battle methods to keep the war going.

“It’ll be alright,” Katsura tiredly murmurs to him the night after a particularly long strategy meeting. He knows he doesn't have to attend these meetings anymore, but he does, if only to know where his friends will be as he stays behind.

Sakamoto merely nods and continues walking towards their camp, thinking, _No, it won't. You can still fight, but I can’t, Zura._

Gintoki, whose aloofness and borderline obliviousness were on a whole other level, didn’t mention his injury at all. Gintoki threw him the same tired, long-suffering, annoyed looks as usual. But there were moments that he spoke just a bit too safe, didn't wander too deeply into talks about war, injuries, or the amanto. Politeness that he’d never treated him with, that made Sakamoto want to scream.

_I know you’re trying, Gintoki, but I am still myself._

Takasugi couldn’t—wouldn’t—meet his eyes anymore.

Always standing as far away as he could, they were only in close contact during the strategy meetings. Sakamoto wasn't a general, not anymore, but it still stung when Takasugi frowned every time he inserted his opinion. Well-versed in avoidance strategies, Sakamoto notes that wherever they are, Takasugi always turns around when he hears Sakamoto's voice.

And it really shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, but Sakamoto had foolishly believed that despite everything, Takasugi would not change, that he would remain that brutally honest constant in his life.

 _That’s right, hate me, you bastard!_ he thinks as he sees Takasugi turn around when he notices him standing by the entrance.

But really, the only bastard here was himself.

* * *

 

He reaches towards the stars, towards something so big he cannot reach, and wistfully sighs. It is only here, in this raggedy roof far from their camp, that he can get a few moments of peace. It is only here where he can let go of the false persona he's carried that day. Here, he doesn't have to pretend to be happy: here he just _is._

Today, in particular, he's eager to forget about the absolute chaos on the battlefield. Gintoki and Takasugi had once again clashed in their approach, and their soldiers had paid a heavy price. If it wasn't for Zura’s quick-thinking, they would’t have come back at all.

He would've been left behind, as usual.

He shivers, thinking back on the tired soldiers, the way he'd been anxiously awaiting their return, only to be met with so much blood, so many injuries. He'd seen the grimaces, the hatred, the resigned faces of Zura as they brokenly made their way to the first-aid tent.

_What was the point of it all?_

He startles as he hears shuffling feet, a grunt, and someone climbing up towards him. He grits his teeth, annoyed at the interruption, moreso when he sees a mop of tousled silver hair. “Don't follow me!” he snaps out before he can stop himself.

Gintoki rolls his eyes as he comfortably grunts and settles himself even further. He sticks a finger up his nose as he gripes, “I wanted to look at the stars, idiot. It ain’t always about you.”

It's as if he's been drenched with a bucket of cold water. True, it wasn’t all about him. Today proved that the war wasn't getting any better, and even with Sakamoto’s bargaining skills, there was a large shortage of goods, particularly after today's fiasco.

_I should leave. I’m already a pathetic excuse for a samurai; calling me a coward, deserter, or scum wouldn’t change a thing._

Gintoki, for all his brief wise quips, is coarse and blunt. He hides his thoughts and feelings, but is particularly brutal when he's being honest. ‘It ain't always about you,’ he said.

_What good is it for me to stay and be a hindrance to my friends?_

And it is because Gintoki is honest, because he doesn't hold back, that he knows what he must say.

Breaking the peaceful silence, he states, “I’ve decided. I'm going into space.”

Now, the verdict from the only fair judge he'd find in this abandoned place, this forsaken war. But Gintoki remains silent. The only sign that he's heard his words is a slight tilt of his head, a brief glimpse of curious, tired, eyes.

He hastens to explain, “While crawling around on the ground, we can see the future while we fight the Amanto. Even while we do that, the Amanto keep coming to earth. We can't oppose the advancing wave of the era.”

He notes the way that Gintoki clenches his fists, his mouth drawn tight. But now that he's let the floodgates open, he can't stop now. He holds his right arm above him, watches as the moon shines light on his ugly scar. “This war’s only to let our friends go and die in vain.”

He heaves a big sigh, and closes his eyes. “From here on, I’ve to live with a higher point of view. A point of view where I can see even the planets that are prohibited to Earthlings and Amanto.”

Gintoki shifts, but remains silent. Sakamoto crookedly smiles, and murmurs, “That's why I'm going to space. While floatin’ in a big ship in space, I'll scoop up and fish stars.”

Gintoki’s closes his eyes, as if pondering his words. But he's just a bit too silent, and Sakamoto nervously prods, “What do you think, Gintoki? You're too good of a man to be locked up in this small planet. Come with me…”

Sakamoto startles at Gintoki’s loud snore. He turns shocked eyes on Gintoki’s prone, _sleeping,_ figure, and wryly thinks, _He must be tired, but still! How rude!_ Sakamoto guffaws. “Oi, sky! Please knock down a meteorite on him!”

Unfortunately, no such thing happens, and he's left to ponder his words alone. _Now that I've said it out loud, even if it was to a sleeping idiot, I know what I must do. I've hesitated too long._

He spends a few moments staring up at the sky filled with so many possibilities, so much knowledge to grasp. Each star, a new place to explore, a new way to fight the oncoming wave of change.

 _It truly is beautiful night to sleep up here,_ he thinks as he settles himself comfortably, next to Gintoki. _Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a bit..._

* * *

 

He's just returned from the city with a cart full of first aid and weaponry, looking forward to a bath to cool his aching bones, when he's dragged off by a breathless Zura.

“Oi!” he says as Zura grips his wrist—the non-injured one, he duly notes—in a firm, but gentle manner, and drags him off to his tent.

“Zura, what-” he abruptly trails off when Zura pushes him into the tent. Inside the tent there’s a small cot, numerous paper and maps dotting every possible surface. It’s so like Zura, to bring his position as a general into his private room.

Zura stalks forward muttering, “It's not Zura it's Katsura,” while clearing his small table by sweeping his arms and sending everything sprawling onto the floor. It's messy, disorganized, and chaotic. Zura points him to the now-empty table, saying, “Sit.”

He quirks his lips and staggers forward, still at a loss as to what he's doing here.

Zura’s ruffling through his things in the corner, muttering to himself. Sakamoto stays silent, waiting for an explanation to this strange moment. “Ah!” mutters Zura as he finds whatever it is he's looking for.

He waits with bated breath, waiting for what's to come.

Zura turns and—

Sakamoto snorts. “ _What_ are you wearing?”

Zura fiddles with the too-large glasses and the rather unflattering nose. “It's a costume, see.” He says it in a satisfied tone, slightly preening.

Sakamoto tries to understand, he really does, but this is just so strange, it feels slightly ominous. There's a lot of questions he wants to ask, but he's sure that Zura wouldn’t answer them all. “So…” he trails off, not even knowing where to begin.

Zura throws him a pointed look, one he's sure is supposed to be serious, but that he can't take seriously with that ridiculous getup. “You're a merchant.”

He rolls his eyes. _Starting with the obvious, I see._ “Who else is there?”

“Well,” Zura primly crosses his arms. “I need a favor.”

Sakamoto quirks his lips. “What is it?”

“I've heard rumors. About a new tactic, a new way to bring victory.”

“...Okay.”

Zura crosses his arms, eyes burning with determination. “A leader must use any means possible to lead his organization into victory.”

He knows Zura could spend the entire evening avoiding the topic at hand, so he smoothly interjects, “Yeah, okay. Great. What d’ya want?”

Zura grimaces, but stands tall, ready to speak his mind. “They're special, you see.”

“Hey-"

“It's beneficial for all of us, truly it is.”

“Oi-”

“And it's such a-”

“Zura!”

Zura pauses. "It's not Zura it's Katsura. As I was saying-”

But Sakamoto's had enough. He's usually patient, too, but today... he'll take a bit of a shortcut. He frowns. “I'm not getting it.”

Zura frowns back, but with those ugly glasses he just looks like a mixture between a clown and an idiot. “Why not?”

He snaps out, “I can't get something you aren't telling me. So, what do you want?”

Zura heaves a deep sigh, as if Sakamoto was the one being unreasonable. Its annoying, and he's got half a mind to deny Zura's request. But Zura huffs, and quietly mutters “...Uno.”

He blinks, unsure if he's heard correctly. “What?”

“Uno cards.”

Sakamoto snorts, disbelievingly. _“Cards?!_ I'm risking my life for cards. Really, Zura.”

Zura grits out, “As I said, I'll take any method to win.”

“How's it supposed to help you be a general?”  _I don't see it!_

Zura replies, calmly. “Look, I know you don't believe me, but there are other ways to analyze the opponent, your allies, your soldiers. This is one of them.”

They're at a standstill, the general and the merchant. Sakamoto's merchant brain knows its not worth it, but his heart, it tells him that Zura, while unconventinal, always has the best interests at mind. And beneath the ridiculous costume, he can see Zura's determined glint, his eyes unwavering, patiently waiting for Sakamoto to make his choice.

Sakamoto doesn't pretend to understand, but he knows Zura wouldn’t lie about this. Not about war, or about his soldier's lives. He wouldn’t put him in danger for something so trivial. Because despite everything, Zura’s always been kind. He knows his decision and curses himself for it.

He sighs. “I'll see what I can do.”

Zura throws him a small, relieved smile. “Thank you, Tatsuma.”

He waves off his concerns, already thinking about how he'll get the cards without drawing attention to himself. It'll be difficult, but if he can grab it from the trader with the son... “No problem.”

He almost misses Zura's quiet comment. “I'm glad I'll get them before-” he cuts off, eyes wide and lips parted.

He grows warm, an uncomfortable feeling growing inside his stomach. He quietly asks, “Before what?”

Zura stares at him, takes off his stupid glasses, and hesitates. He's serious now, their strange conversation over. He opens his mouth, closes it. Finally, he murmurs, “Before—well. Nevermind.”

He stares at Zura, notes the slightly slouched posture, the clenched teeth, the tired, resigned, pleading, eyes.

 _Ah,_ he realizes with a pang. _He knows._

He exits the tent, eyes stinging from the cold.

* * *

 

As the day of his parting creeps closer, Sakamoto cannot help but feel as if everyone knew what was to come.

After his blunder, Zura was more attentive, eagerly calling him out and praising him. _“We have a bit of a surplus thanks to you. Thanks for the other thing, as well.”_

Gintoki stares at him from across the camp, coming up to look at the stars more often. _“What? You own the place now?”_

Takasugi, well. Takasugi glares at him more often than usual. He scoffs, avoids, glares. Eyes always on him, filled with scorn and derision. _Yes, this is the true me,_ he sadly thinks as Takasugi refuses to sit next to him during their light lunch.

The day arrives without much fanfare. The sky is bright, the air is crisp, and the grounds are dry. A good day for a long travel. Sakamoto rises, ready to follow his regular routine. No one could know he was leaving; they wouldn’t question his decision, but having to answer to their questions and see their judging eyes would be far too much to endure.

_My thoughts will always be here, but my heart is already long gone. I leave no regrets. Zura, Gintoki, Takasugi—It_ _’s not like we’re the emotional kind of people. I’m sure we’ll meet again._

Cleaning his room one last time, he gathers everything he needs in a small bundle and prepares for the moment where he can bid goodbye to this fruitless war. He grips his bag and nods in determination. _I will chase after stars. This is what I’ve always wanted, what I've chosen._

But... it would’ve been nice. The four of them, one last time.

“Oi, Tatsuma.”

Sakamoto squawks and turns, finding Takasugi inside his tent. “Y-Yes?” he asks. _You haven’t talked to me in_ months _, so why today_ _of all days?!_

Takasugi glances at his too-clean tent, his small bag, and murmurs, in that dangerous voice that always spells trouble, “What are you doing?”

Sakamoto tries to utter a lie, but can't. It wouldn’t be right, not today. Instead, he quietly replies, “Please don’t ask questions you’d rather not hear answered.”

Takasugi rolls his eyes and all but thrusts a small but heavy bundle at Sakamoto, who flounders to catch it.

Sakamoto curiously eyes the bundle, and looks at Takasugi, who looks as if he's swallowed a lemon. “Open it,” he hisses in an angry but commanding tone.

He cautiously opens the bundle, and gapes when he looks inside and sees something so beautiful but _impossible._ Sakamoto clears his throat and shakily asks, “Takasugi, why?”

Takasugi looks away, and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

He still can't quite believe it and yet _—_ “You hate these things.”

Takasugi glares up at him. “I _know_ , you dumbass.”

It seems he's become like Zura, with no sense of self-preservation and an endless list of reasons and questions. He says, “You once said that if you caught anyone using them, you would personally cut them down and slit their throats.”

Takasugi scowls and grits his teeth. He  stalks forward and grips his collar, forcing him to crane his neck. It's an uncomfortable position, but he can't find it in him to resist. “Tatsuma, _I know._ ”

“Why?” _Why go against your beliefs for me, of all people?_

Takasugi closes his eyes and frowns as he bitterly replies, “We can protect you here, but not—not _there._  Our swords are useless up there. So you have protect yourself.”

Sakamoto gapes. He kind of understands (is flattered, really) but it's still a huge shock. He splutters, “But you hate these things!”

Takasugi throws him an inscrutable look. “If it’ll help you live, then so be it.”

“I’m not—” _worthy of something like this._

Takasugi lets him go, steps back, clenches his fist, and punches him. For a short man, Takasugi sure packs a punch. He nurses his jaw as Takasugi mutters, “You’re a comrade—a friend. Isn’t it you who always said, ‘give the enemies a disadvantage?’”

“Well, maybe, but—”

Takasugi turns away and begins walking towards the exit. “Go chase after stars or fish or whatever. This is as far as I’ll help you, idiot.”

_“But I’m not worth it!”_

Takasugi pauses and without looking back, softly murmurs, “But you are.” With a last parting wave, Takasugi leaves, adding, “Put it to good use, Tatsuma.”

Sakamoto looks down at the cold, heavy, and beautiful pistol. “Guess I have no choice, do I?” he mumbles to himself. _I’ve got to catch some good things and stay alive._

He smiles, a mere quirk of his lips, and with a lighter heart, thinks, _My war truly isn’t over at all._

_It’s just the start._

* * *

 

It's barely been a day, and he's already missing his loud voice, witty banter, and optimistic soul. He can't help but go to _his_ preferred place to look at the stars and wonder where exactly Sakamoto’s gone. 

He crinkles his nose as he deftly climbs up and sees Gintoki picking his nose while staring at the sky as well.

“I see you're here as well, Zura.”

As he settles himself comfortablyx he mutters, “Yes, well, I needed a breather.”

Gintoki slightly turns, and gives him an appraising look. “You look fine to me.”

He is, physically. No injuries on the outside. On the inside, however… he's frustrated, tired, and lost.

He's frustrated from the consecutive losses in the battlefield. Retreating all the time, overpowered by the amanto, the heavy losses. No more rations from the cities, no more trade. Sakamoto, for all his faults, was a fantastic and shrewd merchant, and even now, one day later, he knows his loss will be felt terribly. No more goods, no more aid from sympathizers.

He's tired of pretending to be alright. He's a general; he must uphold morale and keep his soldiers safe. It pained him to declare Sakamoto Tatsuma a traitor to his soldiers. The words had been squeezed out from his throat, raw, bitter, and so very painful.

He remembers, quite clearly, how his soldiers had declared Sakamoto a traitor, so quick to bring him down after weeks of camaraderie.

_“Always knew he was a traitor.”_

_“Useless anyways.”_

_“Why'd he have to get injured? Couldn't he have left earlier?”_

_“He's a dead man now.”_

He'd clenched his fists and bit his tongue, all for the sake of the soldiers. He's a general; there’s no room for feelings in the camp. And yet he'd wanted to defend Sakamoto, defend the cunning man who greeted each day with a smile, the man who'd become a trusted friend.

_We’re traveling soldiers, a mere moment in an endless war. And yet, I feel as if I'm drifting off at sea._

“I'm tired, Gintoki.” Tired of hiding his emotions. "Sakamoto's not a traitor nor a coward. He was brave, kind, and earnest, yet-"

“Zura-”

Their conversation comes to a halt when someone clambers up next to them. “Oi, Zura, Gintoki, a bit late to be out here, no?”

He rolls his eyes as Takasugi comes into view, hackles raised and typical frown firmly in place.

“Piss off,” he mutters before he can help himself. Gintoki cackles, and Takasugi shoots him a glare.

“Zura, need I remind you-”

Gintoki interjects, “Stuff it, Bakasugi. Can't you tell Zura’s having a moment?”

Zura pouts, but doesn't deny the claim. He is, essentially, taking a break from being a general. No need for ranks when he's among his friends.

He quietly asks what's been in his mind all day. “He'll be alright, won't he?”

They all fall silent, contemplating. Sakamoto is cunning and clever, traits that would guarantee his safety, but they're also a danger. It’s far too easy to make enemies, especially with the amanto.

Gintoki breaks the silence, saying, “He'll be fine. Men like that always are.”

Takasugi adds, reluctantly, “He isn't stupid, he can take care of himself.”

He knows that, he knows Sakamoto will cause chaos and mayhem wherever he goes. He's just worried that Sakamoto who feels things on a deeper level than any of them, will break up there. After all, it is the brightest stars who burn the brightest, and it is Sakamoto who is the brightest of them all. “...I guess.”

Gintoki huffs out a quiet but confident assurance. “Whatever he searches for up there, he'll find it.”

He listens to their quiet breathing, feels the soft breeze tangling their hair, admires the endless stars above them. His heart aches, but it's no longer from fear or aggravation. He'll miss Sakamoto, aches with it already, but he'll respect his decision.

_We're all just searching for a place to call our own. His journey took him to the stars, ours take us to the battlefield._

_I'm sure, someday, we'll meet again. We'll laugh, cry, and fight like always._

His sniffles are met by a wide-eyed Takasugi and a frazzled Gintoki. He wants to laugh, yet his voice breaks as he says, “Takasugi, Gintoki, let's play Uno!”

Their matching gobsmacked expressions are worth the beating he receives afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and reviews are the best motivation, so please tell me what you think! Its been a while since I last wrote for Gintama, so this was fun!


End file.
